Melt This Heart
by Alice Elliot
Summary: Yukihiko imagines himself as a drop of water, about to hit the calm surface of a pool. Unrequited Yukihiko/Ginji, implied Ban/Ginji, one-shot.


A/N: This story contains spoilers for some late manga-only plot details, but really only the back story of the Miroku siblings. None of the main plot is spoiled here. I hope you'll enjoy this little story about Yukihiko, I don't think he gets enough love for being such an intricate character!

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><p>A human is an incurably weak being, a helpless creature torn between the jaws of two equally powerful beasts.<p>

Yukihiko isn't certain that he and his siblings could be considered human, most likely not by the traditional definition at least, but he feels included somehow in this group all the same. The weakness is certainly there.

He may indeed not be a person. The way he has reasoned out the situation, his heart should amount to one-seventh the heart of a full person. He really wishes this was so. If this were the case, he thinks these emotions could not possibly be so strong.

"Yukihiko-kun?"

Ginji's concerned tone startles him with its proximity. He has grown unaccustomed to actually being near someone as Ginji inevitably is whenever he is around. It's always close personal contact with him, no detachment or pretenses. Yukihiko marvels at it anew each time he sees the young man.

"Are you alright? You totally spaced off there!"

Yukihiko shakes his head dismissively and smiles. "Sorry about that," he announces softly, forcing himself out of his thoughts. "I'm fine, really," he lies, but with an ease that assures him that Ginji will not notice.

"If you say so," his friend returns, easily mirroring his smile.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yukihiko is aware of his sister laughing softly. She had been amused by his request to come here, to meet with his friend. The others had been concerned, angry, suspicious, or all of the above. He thought he even felt derision from Natsuhiko. Some part of him had indeed burned with shame to make his request to the others, knowing that they were aware of his feelings, unable to hide from those who would soon share his very soul.

If only the reality truly amounted to sharing _his_ soul. Instead, it feels as if he will soon lose his own soul. He will, in a sense, and he knows this, but he also knows that it is not something he should fear. But he does all the same. 'Yukihiko' will cease to exist. Even though he is not supposed to be his own person, the part of him (all of him, it feels like) that does indentify as one reels back and rejects this idea. It feels as though what defines him will turn into emptiness. He imagines it as though his thoughts and emotions now are those of a dreamer who is about to forget their dream that once felt so lucid. Soon, these feelings will fade, this heart will fade, will meld into a fragment of another, and it will be just as if 'Yukihiko' never existed.

Sometimes, he imagines himself as a drop of water, about to hit the surface. He will soon dissolve into the rest of the pool, cease to be his own form for the sake of becoming part of something bigger. It terrifies him, and when he traces this idea in his mind, he feels a hum of agreement throughout his being, as if the emotions of the others are in synch with the notion.

When he looks into the warm brown eyes of the young man before him, he fears this transition more than ever, but another part of him welcomes it more than he thought he ever would.

Ginji is speaking to him now, and he thinks that he must have replied a few times to encourage him to go on, because it seems that his lively chatter is ongoing. "…And that's when Ban-chan showed up, and we totally gave those protection service guys what they had coming! It was awesome!" Ginji punctuates the end of his story with a laugh, his eyes shining. He always glows like this when he speaks of his partner, the person closest to him in this world. Yukihiko knows that he could never measure up to this person in Ginji's heart. It aches, but he acknowledges this.

He loves Ginji, and he has known this for a while. This boy has been the brightest light in his life, the one who has been kindest to him, with no motivation beyond his own pure heart. It wasn't that his siblings didn't love him, he simply never felt as if he was truly one of them. He had come about only after their lives had lost their light, their Ellis, he had never known their happy days filled with joy. His life had been as the night of the new moon, devoid of the kind of light love gives. Being with Ginji makes him feel just the opposite.

A look of pain and joy at once crosses his face, and Ginji looks concerned for his friend. "Yukihiko-kun…" he trails off, "What's the matter? You never did say why you came to visit."

They are sitting alone in a booth at the Honky Tonk, as Yukihiko had firmly requested, but he can't help but note that Ban's presence outside is very visible. He is leaning against the window outside the café, currently taking a drag of his cigarette. He knows in that moment even more than before that there is no point telling Ginji what he feels. Even if Yukihiko could stay, he already has another worth more to him than someone like a Miroku ever could be.

Yukihiko knows this, and he longs for the day when his heart will melt into the rest, when there will no longer be Yukihiko, when these feelings will disperse into the others, and he will no longer need to know this pain. For now, he smiles at the concerned friend before him.

His smile falls off his face more naturally than he wishes it would. Averting his eyes, he resolves to tell at least half of the truth he came here for. "Ginji-kun, I came to see you because you're my friend," he pauses for a moment, and Ginji's sincere expression of joy warms him again, but he knows he must ruin the moment and continue. "And so I wanted to say goodbye."

Ginji looks baffled and crushed, the words obviously the last thing he expected. "Goodbye? But, Yukihiko-kun… where are you going?"

Shaking his head, Yukihiko isn't even certain how to reply for an instant. "It's not exactly that I'm going anywhere. It's just…" He's not sure he has the ability to convey the whole story to his bewildered and distraught companion, and so he falters. "I won't be able to see you again… Please, it only makes it harder if…" The boy (and he's never felt more like one before, even though he knows that soon he will be an adult) stands up in a hurry, losing his resolve.

Making a noise that sounds a bit like a sob, Ginji follows suit and throws his arms around his friend's fleeing back. "I don't understand," he says shakily, "And I wish you wouldn't talk like that. Isn't there any way we can help? Anything we could get back for you, so you wouldn't have to leave?"

Yukihiko shakes his head sadly. He wishes he didn't notice that Ginji hadn't even said, "I," but rather "we." He wants to scream. He wonders if this would feel even more painful if he was a "whole" person, not one-seventh of a soul. He doesn't think it could. "I'm sorry… But nothing can stop this. It's how things have been meant to be from the start."

Ginji cries so easily, whether he's happy or sad, and Yukihiko knows this. All the same, he feels selfishly happy when he hears a real sob, feels Ginji press against his back. "Don't talk like that," he says weakly, and the other boy can't help but marvel at how someone can be so easily compassionate as to take on another's pain like this. That is, until he notices that the figure outside the restaurant has turned his head their way since Ginji's tears have started to fall, and their gazes meet through the glass. He wants to scream again, and almost wishes he had never come. Disappearing right then would have been a blessing.

"I'm sorry, Ginji-kun," he says quietly while still meeting that cold gaze. Unable to hold it, he turns towards the other young man. He holds this warmer gaze far more easily, but at the same time with a deeper pain. He tries to convey with his eyes alone all the things he wishes he wasn't too cowardly or wise to say. "I'm sorry, but… Goodbye," and he breaks the eye contact, turning again to leave. He knows that he will be satisfied with the afterimage of Ginji's expression until this heart that loves him is gone. At least, he had had one friend that was his alone, one friend that was only Yukihiko's own friend, not an ally of the Miroku. That is enough, that is more than the others had even in Ellis.

His look must have gotten through even to the stubbornly optimistic boy. Understanding the gravity of his words, he accepts the parting. "Goodbye, Yukihiko-kun." He still sounds torn, and as if his words aren't final, but the Miroku are out the door before Yukihiko could give into his weak desire to somehow stay.

The two forces tugging on the youngest of the siblings had each never been stronger. He fears it so fiercely, to become one with the other six, to lose what he has that defines him as Yukihiko. He doesn't want to think of his polite, quiet attitude blending with Kirara's playfulness, or Natsuhiko's stern resilience, or any of them, to make one cohesive being. It feels like standing on a tightrope, only to find that he is looking down into complete oblivion. While logically he knows that the elements that compose "Yukihiko" will continue to exist, he also knows that his consciousness will cease to be his own. It feels close enough to death for him. Fearing death is perhaps what comes most natural to any living being, and fear he does.

At the same time, Yukihiko again imagines the moment a droplet impacts a still pool of water, soon to be seamlessly integrated with the rest of the mass. He envisions his feelings for Ginji, his attachments to this world, his knowledge of the hopeless reality, his memories of his devoid childhood, all of it streaming down into a calm pool. Perhaps more than anything else, he yearns for his heart to melt into the others, for this consciousness that knows the agony of such strong unrequited feelings to cease to exist. He thinks the embrace of oblivion may indeed be a welcome one.

He knows it will come soon. And part of him has grown sick of waiting for it, as he pictures all of the emotion, good and bad, streaming away from him as water, to enter a greater stream, and leaving nothing behind. It feels like salvation. When he next thinks to turn back, the Honky Tonk is long out of sight, and he is alone.

His other siblings have been so quiet that he is barely even aware of their presence. It feels like an apology.


End file.
